


I'm Done with Running, So I Give in to You

by goodgayegg



Series: Your Song [2]
Category: The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, F/F, Feels, Nerd!Lexa, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodgayegg/pseuds/goodgayegg
Summary: After more than three years, Clarke shows up at Lexa's door in the middle of the night. What happens next?Based on Sam Smith's "Nirvana". Sequel to "You Know How I Get When I'm Alone".





	1. June 22nd

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! So, My laptop has been out of commission for a couple weeks, but it's fixed now (fingers crossed), meaning I can bring you the next installment. I hope y'all enjoy it :)

_This was the moment. She walked up the steps and into the foyer. The label for apartment 311 still read “Woods.” She pressed the button._

_The intercom crackled for a long, long moment before a familiar voice came down the line._

_“Hello?”_

_“Lexa.”_

//

“Clarke.” 

Lexa released the intercom and looked over her shoulder at the clock on her stove. It was nearly one in the morning, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t dreaming. Her mind agonized over what to do. Her finger had no such qualms, pressing the buzzer without her conscious intervention. Which was what she was going to do anyway. After all, Clarke could need help. She could be dying. 

She heard a soft, even tentative, knock at the door. Instinct told her to shut her eyes as she turned the knob, but she resisted. And there, standing in her doorway, safe and sound and looking for all the world like nothing had changed in three years, was Clarke. 

“You’re not dying.” Lexa regretted her words before they left her mouth. _You haven’t seen her in over three years and **that’s** what you come up with?!_

Clarke gave Lexa that lazy, devastating grin of hers: confident, bordering on cocky. “I’m not dying.” 

She did look a bit unsteady, though, Lexa noticed, and her slow blinks seemed to throw her off even more. _Not dying, just drunk. Perfect._ Though, honestly, what power in the Universe other than half a bottle of tequila would land Clarke on her doorstep in the middle of the night? 

Clarke’s smile faded and her gaze migrated to her sneakers. “Can I come in?” 

For some reason, the request shocked Lexa. She wasn’t sure if it was because she expected Clarke to simply make herself at home or because she couldn’t conceptualize her ex—her Clarke—in her space after all this time. But her body circumvented her brain for the second time that night and she stepped back to allow Clarke inside. 

Lexa was by nature a private person, particularly where emotional debacles were concerned, but she dearly wished that Anya weren’t deployed overseas right now. She needed some support to deal with this minor implosion of reality. Though, if Anya were here, in their apartment, she would have thrown Clarke out—or never let Lexa open the door in the first place. 

Clarke perched against the right arm of the couch, winding a lock of hair around her finger. 

“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” Lexa told Clarke. Water. That was a good, logical thing to do, and a reasonable excuse to retreat. Her apartment’s open floorplan meant that she’d only be partially hidden in the kitchen, but it would have to do. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply a few times before grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it at the sink. 

She handed Clarke the water, careful to avoid physical contact. Touching her would make this far too real. 

Clarke downed the water as if there were a prize at the bottom, then set the empty glass on the slate-topped coffee table. “So…” 

Lexa said nothing. This was all on Clarke. 

“…hi.”

Lexa couldn’t help but laugh: a single harsh gust of breath. “Yeah. Hi, Clarke. After three and a half years, after everything that happened, you show up at my apartment in the middle of the night to say hi.” Lexa’s throat felt tight and she fought the urge to cry. _Where are these tears coming from?_ Lexa didn’t feel anything for Clarke anymore. She couldn’t. 

“Look, Lexa. I just…I wanted to see you. I’m sorry. I guess this was just the latest in a long line of bad decisions.” She stood and moved toward the door. 

“Wait!” Lexa wasn’t proud of the urgency in her voice. She schooled her features back to relative neutrality before Clarke whipped her head around. “It’s late. And you walked here, right?” 

Clarke nodded. Lexa sighed, but if the Universe was insane, she might as well play along. “Stay.” 

“What?” Clarke looked genuinely confused. She probably hadn’t had a plan beyond pressing Lexa’s buzzer. 

“You’re drunk. It’s 1:30 in the morning. I’ve got a spare bed. Stay.” 

Clarke’s face contorted as she had a very obvious internal debate with herself. “Okay.” 

Lexa grabbed a set of sheets from the linen closet and made up Anya’s bed for Clarke. She handed her a toothbrush and an oversized t-shirt, trying not to think about how Clarke tended to eschew pajamas altogether. She hid in her bedroom until Clarke shut Anya’s door, then hurriedly brushed her teeth, washed her face, and crawled into bed. Part of her desperately hoped to wake in the morning and find this had all been a dream, but that was only part of her. 

// 

Lexa had gone for a run, showered, eaten breakfast, and read most of the front section of _The New York Times_ by the time Clarke stumbled out of Anya’s room the next morning. Lexa knew they needed to talk, but Clarke looked to be in so much alcohol-related discomfort that it would have to wait. And Clarke still wasn’t wearing pants. So, she swallowed her emotions and fetched the Advil from the bathroom cabinet. 

Clarke took the pills and a cup of coffee and retreated to the armchair in the living room. She drained the entire mug before she spoke. “I guess I should thank you for giving me water last night, or I’d be feeling even shittier right now.” 

“You’re welcome.” Lexa caught herself before appending her usual “any time.” That response was reserved for friends, for people she trusted, and Clarke wasn’t one of those people anymore. “Do you want something to eat?” she asked instead.

“Thanks, but I should probably get home.” 

“Your phone was buzzing quite a bit this morning. It seems like someone’s been looking for you.” Lexa pointed to the device lying face-down on the coffee table. 

Clarke’s head lolled forward into her palms. “Shit,” she mumbled. 

Lexa pulled the half-full trash bag from the bin under the kitchen sink and took it to the trash room at the end of the hall to give Clarke some time alone with her phone. She didn’t want to know whom Clarke was calling. 

// 

When Lexa returned, Clarke was dressed and relatively put together. She stood awkwardly by the door, eyes drifting over the papers collected on Lexa’s corkboard. “I’m meeting O for brunch. Do you—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “I was going to ask if you wanted to join us, but that’s completely ridiculous and I’m sorry.” 

Right. It was ridiculous for Lexa to consider brunch with Clarke and Octavia. That wasn’t who she was anymore, who they were anymore. Last night, this morning…It wasn’t how things really were. But she was still allowed to care about her old friend. “How is O, anyway?” 

“She’s good. Still a gym rat and a health nut. The other day, she wanted me to _drink_ kale. I don’t even _eat_ kale!” 

Lexa chuckled. “And Raven?” 

Clarke’s easy smile faltered. “Her leg is getting worse, and her research team didn’t get the grant they wanted to use to study degenerative conditions like hers, so she’s been pretty upset lately. But she and O are still going strong. They’re probably going to get married and leave me all alone in the old house.” 

Lexa’s eyes widened. So, Clarke was still living in the old house with her friends. And no one else. No partner to move in with her. Not that it meant she was single; she and Lexa had dated for years and Lexa hadn’t moved in. But Lexa couldn’t help the grain of selfish hope that settled in her chest. Not that she wanted Clarke to be alone forever. It was simply satisfying to not be the only one who still didn’t have someone to come home to. 

Clarke’s phone buzzed twice in quick succession, drawing Lexa out of her thoughts. Clarke smiled apologetically at Lexa as she typed out a quick reply. “I should really get going…” 

Lexa stepped back, giving Clarke room to open the door. “Of course.” 

Clarke ran a hand through her miraculously untangled hair and tugged on a tight-fitting denim jacket Lexa thought she remembered from years ago. 

They spoke at once: “Listen, I—” “Clarke—” 

At Lexa’s urging, Clarke continued. “I have no idea what came over me last night, and I’m so, so sorry that you got stuck on the receiving end of it.” 

“It’s okay, Clarke. Really.” It was actually far from okay—simultaneously far better and far worse, but nowhere close to neutral. Lexa didn’t know why she felt the need to comfort Clarke like that. 

“No, it’s not. Showing up here was a supremely shitty thing to do, and I want to make it up to you.” 

“Meaning…?” 

“Let me buy you a drink?” She paused and a small crease appeared between her eyebrows. “On second thought, maybe that’s not a great idea. But we could do coffee? Or something?” 

“Clarke, I…” Lexa found that she didn’t have anything more to say. 

“Just think about it, okay?” There was that devastating sunbeam of a smile again, combined with an equally dangerous endearing head tilt. Lexa could only nod as she fought off the riptide of sense memories brought on by the subtle movements of Clarke’s cheeks and the particular cascade of blonde hair on her shoulder. “You still have my number?” 

Lexa was fairly sure she made an affirmative noise. Clarke’s smile widened a fraction, if that were possible, and she skipped out the door, all evidence of her hangover gone. Lexa stood by her door for several minutes after that, her thoughts a constant loop of _What the fuck just happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck *did* just happen?
> 
> Let me know what you think.


	2. June 24th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa tries to ignore what happened last weekend and forget about Clarke, but life won't let her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend it hasn't been months since I've updated and go from there. 
> 
> No Clexa interaction in this one, but I hope you'll still be satisfied with the possibilities it sets up.

Lexa spent the rest of her weekend holed up in the university library—her distraction of choice. At her best estimate, about 10% of that time was devoted to her dissertation on gender roles in the work and life of George Eliot. The other 90% ranged from academic rabbit holes of queer theory to beating her personal high score on Tetris. 

She should be finishing her research in the next couple of months and defending her dissertation in the spring, but at this point Lexa had resigned herself to an extra semester. Her work was fully funded with grants and her adjunct teaching appointment; another few months wouldn’t mean the end of the world. Her advisor would be disappointed, but not surprised; Indra knew Lexa was nowhere close to a conclusion. 

This summer, Lexa was teaching two courses: _Introduction to British Literature_ , filled with students looking for a quick way to fulfil the university-wide writing requirement, and _Sex and the Victorian Novel_ , a 200-level seminar cross-listed in English and Gender Studies that had been one of Lexa’s favorite classes of undergrad. The first was a bit of a chore, but the second, co-taught with Indra, was the highlight of Lexa’s academic life thus far. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, seated around an old wooden conference table in Founders’ Hall with a dozen passionate students, she felt like teaching might not be such a bad career path after all. Today, in particular, the conversation had been stimulating and the time had flown by. Lexa took her time collecting her notes and straightening up the room, not at all looking forward to the unscheduled hours ahead. Indra and the other students had left when class ended at 11:30, but one of Lexa’s favorite students hung back.

“But how is Emma’s marriage to Knightley any different than the ending of 'Taming of the Shrew'? Honestly, I’m only convinced of Jane Austen’s feminism about half the time.”

Lexa shook her head, not bothering to mask her smile. “Let’s save it for Wednesday, shall we, Zoe? Three hours of Jane Austen in one day is about my limit.” 

Zoe huffed and immediately made Lexa regret her suggestion by switching to small talk. “How was your weekend, Doc?” 

Lexa tried her best to remain neutral, but she knew she’d stiffened at the question. “It was fine. Normal. Just, you know…research. And, as I’ve told you, I’m not a doctor yet. Anyway, how was yours?”

“I had a date, but I don’t think I’m gonna see her again.”

“No?”

“I mean, I had fun, but that’s about all I have time for right now if I want to finish both my majors and graduate on time.” 

Zoe was 24 and on-track to graduate in December with degrees in gender studies and social work. She’d been a sophomore in the business school when she was diagnosed with cancer. She had to take two years off school for treatment, and when she came back she decided to pursue her passions instead of trying to please her parents. She was very open about her story, but self-conscious about being a 24-year-old undergrad. Her age and the resulting social distance from other students were the reasons that Lexa allowed Zoe to treat her so casually. That and the fact that she was probably Lexa’s only friend on this continent while Anya was deployed.

Lexa brought Jane Austen up again and listened to Zoe babble on the walk to Lexa’s desk in the English department office. She rearranged some papers on her desk and reached into her shoulder bag for her laptop. 

“What are you doing?” Zoe asked, incredulous.

“Working?” Lexa sat down at her desk, only to be tugged back to standing. 

Zoe sighed dramatically. “You’re just going to sit in that chair, hunched over your laptop, until it gets dark outside. At least have lunch first. I’m heading to Murphy’s. Come with me?” 

“I really can’t. I’m at least three chapters behind on my draft. And I’m not sure it’s appropriate to eat one-on-one with a student, anyway.”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Zoe narrowed her eyes. “Okay, I was going to let this morning’s above-average aloofness slide, but now I _know_ something’s wrong. Spill.” 

“There is nothing to ‘spill’!” 

“Riiight.” Zoe drew the syllable out in what Lexa thought a slightly childish manner. “See ya around, Doc.” She turned toward the door and sulked out. 

“Not a doctor!” Lexa called after her. 

//

Lexa wasn’t quite sure if she’d been lying when she told Zoe she was going to get some writing done this afternoon. Maybe she really had intended to, but it wasn’t working out that way. After a half hour of work, Lexa actually had deleted more words than she’d written. It was almost a relief when her nosy student reappeared, clutching a paper bag emblazoned with the checkerboard logo of Murphy’s Deli. 

“I got you a seitan banh mi. You’re welcome.” 

“That sounds great. Thank you, Zoe.” Lexa reached into her bag for her wallet. 

“Don’t bother. My treat.”

“I can’t—” 

“I insist. The only form of payment I’ll accept is an honest answer about what’s going on with you.”

“There is nothing going on!” Lexa reached for the sandwich, but Zoe held the bag tightly. 

“Then why did you show up to class this morning looking like someone ran over your first edition of _Middlemarch_?”

“Do not bring George Eliot into this!”

“Why not? That’s the only thing that matters in your life, right? If it’s not your dissertation, what could it be? Girl trouble? You’d have to leave your apartment for that, which, as far as I know, is unprecedented—” 

“Rude.” Lexa wasn’t about to add that girl trouble had found her without her having to walk out her door. 

“I’m only repeating what you’ve told me. I’ve known you for two years and the only things I’ve seen you this rattled about are politics and Brit lit. So, which is it? Trump’s foreign policy or the new _Victorian Review_?”

“I’m not—that’s not—I could have…personal problems.”

“You certainly could.” Zoe grinned. “And you could tell me about them over a delicious meal in the courtyard...” Lexa gave Zoe her best ‘I’m in charge here’ glare. “…or we could just eat. No talking necessary. Have I mentioned that you are _terrifying_ when you want to be?”

//

Lexa and Zoe had eaten lunch together a few times before, always on the wrought-iron bench beneath the dogwood tree in the Founders’ Hall courtyard. It was Lexa’s favorite place on campus, and, through the unspoken norms that governed campus life, almost exclusively the domain of professors. 

Zoe handed over the banh mi and rifled through the sauce packets at the bottom of the bag. “Mustard? Sriracha? Duck sauce? Girl issues?” 

“No, yes, no…definitely not!”

“You hesitated. I knew you were lying!”

Lexa glanced around the deserted courtyard. “Ugh. Fine. Just don’t, I don’t know, tell anyone.”

“Who the shit would I tell? Professor Ikande? Dean Bechdel?” 

“My ex randomly showed up at my door on Friday night.”

“I didn’t even know you _had_ an ex.”

“Again, rude. We were together at the end of my undergrad and when I was getting my master’s. I hadn’t heard from her in years. But she got wasted and found her way to my apartment.”

“Are you sure you aren’t living in an episode of _The L Word_?”

“I know. It’s crazy. And then I, like the idiot I am, invited her to stay the night.”

“How was that?”

“That’s the thing. It should have been unbelievably awkward, but it felt natural. And I didn’t want to forgive her. She treated me really badly at the end of our relationship. But when she asked me to get coffee with her—”

“She what now?!”

“It’s a horrible idea, right?”

“Such a bad idea.”

“Right. I should never…”

“Of course not.”

“But what if I kind of want to?”

“Doesn’t mean you have to act on it.”

“She actually originally asked me to get a different kind of drink, but that would have been even worse.”

“Much worse.”

“I definitely wouldn’t do drinks. But coffee…”

“Listen. You used to love her. That history gives her power over you, but you can’t give into it.”

“No giving in. Got it.”

“I know what it’s like to have a shitty ex.”

“Clarke isn’t like Ontari, Zoe.”

Zoe choked on a bite of pastrami. “Clarke?”

“Yeah. That’s her name. I don’t think she meant to hurt me. She just didn’t feel the way I did.”

“I thought you said she treated you badly.”

“Mostly just not being around. And then…”

“And then?”

“Nevermind. I’m done talking about this. You got your juicy tidbits about your professor’s life.” 

“Damn, Doc. If I didn’t know you were so upset at someone else, I’d be offended. People are allowed to care about you, you know.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been an intense couple of days. But it’s over now. I have to get on with my life and stop obsessing about the past.”

“That’s the spirit!” Zoe threw her arm around Lexa’s shoulders in a gesture that felt a bit too familiar even for Lexa’s lax definition of professionalism. “Speaking of spirits: you should come have a drink with me on Friday.” Lexa opened her mouth to point out that this was not the sort of thing she should do with a student, but Zoe cut her off. “Relax, Doc. It’s a whole group thing. You won’t be breaking the administrative code of conduct or whatever.”

“I don’t—”

“How are you going to get over Clarke if you don’t let yourself meet anyone new?”

The girl had a point. There wasn’t any harm in going out for an evening every once in a few years. Lexa guessed she hadn't been out since before Zoe was legally allowed to drink. “Consider this a _very_ tentative yes, pending sufficient research progress this week.”

“Hell yeah!” Zoe yelled, then cleared her throat and looked sheepishly up at the open windows of the third-floor dean’s suite. She continued, more quietly, “we’ll have you dancing with a hot girl in no time.” 

Lexa rolled her eyes and took a bite of her sandwich. She decided not to tell Zoe how much she reminded her of Emma Woodhouse at the moment, not allowing herself to consider which Jane Austen character that made her.


	3. June 28th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just pretend it hasn't been four months since I've updated and go on our merry way...  
> I'm sorry, y'all. On the upside, it's long and smut-filled. Hope that makes up for the wait :)

“Sufficient research progress” was a pretty arbitrary distinction. It had been a good week, though. A warm spell had kept Lexa in her air-conditioned office instead of drawing her outdoors. So, Friday evening found her dressed up and on her way to Zoe’s choice of nightclub: Praimfaya. It was only a few blocks from her apartment, but she’d never been there before.

When Lexa arrived, she couldn’t find a familiar face in the crowd. The interior of the club was darker than the dusk outside. She texted Zoe to meet her by the bar and ordered herself a gin & tonic.

_Zoe (8:07): Running late. Be there soon._

Lexa couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She didn’t have much history of meeting Zoe places, but it didn’t surprise her that her student was not on time. Really, Lexa should have known better than to show up at 8:00 for 8:00 plans. What a stodgy, stuffy, professorial move. She was going to need to loosen up if she wanted to meet someone.

It would be nice if she knew any of the other people she and Zoe were meeting tonight. In all likelihood, she wasn’t the _only_ one there close to on time, but how would she know? She scanned the bar for anyone remotely familiar, though they would probably be one of her students and that was bound to be awkward.

“Of all the gin joints in all the world…”

Lexa startled at the familiar voice. _Speaking of awkward..._ “Clarke?” They successfully avoided each other for three and a half years, and now Clarke had approached Lexa twice in less than a week? Zoe’s theory about her life and _The L Word_ suddenly seemed plausible. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I know it’s been a while, but the Lexa I knew wasn’t exactly at home in the club.”

“I’m meeting a friend.” Lexa puffed up her chest, feeling a strange need to defend herself against this completely accurate assessment.

“A friend. Right.” Clarke shifted her weight from foot to foot, letting the barstool beside Lexa remain empty.

“No, really. It’s a group thing. Not…” _Not a date._ Lexa should have felt good about Clarke thinking she was on a date, instead of trying to correct the misconception.

“So, this seat isn’t taken?”

Lexa stared into her glass. She had yet to meet Clarke’s eyes this evening. She was here to meet new people, and she knew that if she let herself really look at Clarke, her goal might change. But Zoe would be there soon. She had an out. And, to be honest, “No, it’s not.”

//

Zoe was not there soon. Lexa was going to kill her on Monday. Even Clarke felt the need to mention it, words slipping from that playful smirk of hers: “Are you _sure_ you’re meeting someone here?”

“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting friends, too?”

“Yeah, but it’s a casual thing. And maybe they’re around somewhere.” She paused, and Lexa thought she glimpsed a touch of pink on Clarke’s cheeks. “I haven’t really had the chance to look.”

Lexa hated that blush, hated the answering heat on her own face, hated the way their conversation flowed so easily. She hated Clarke’s gentle, self-effacing persona, a side of Clarke most people didn’t get to see. She hated that this night felt so much like meeting Clarke all over again. But what she hated most of all was that she didn’t actually mind Zoe’s tardiness, that she was happy sitting here with Clarke.

An unfortunate consequence of Lexa’s awkwardness was increased consumption of alcohol to give her something to do with her hands. She thought Clarke had supplied the last couple of rounds, but she couldn’t quite recall how many there had been.

At 10:00, the music rose in volume and the lights went up in a corner behind the dance floor. Apparently, some big-deal DJ was now performing. Lexa couldn’t distinguish the new song from the previous soundtrack, but Clarke started rocking and bouncing in her seat.

Lexa gestured to the crowd of dancing people on the other side of the room. “You should go.”

“What?”

“Dance. Don’t let me stop you.”

Clarke’s mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she stood and faced Lexa, blue eyes shining in the low light. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

Lexa didn’t believe the words, and she could tell Clarke didn’t, either. But, honestly, how dare Clarke make her feel bad about this! She clearly wanted to dance, and Lexa wasn’t going to join her. They might be able to make pleasant conversation, but they weren’t anything close to friends. It was probably better that they didn’t keep spending time together—especially not on a dance floor.

Zoe suspiciously appeared, beer in hand, not five seconds after Clarke walked away. “How was that?”

“Hello to you, too,” Lexa scoffed. “How long have you been watching?”

“Long enough. She’s hot. Why aren’t you dancing with her?”

“That’s my ex, you sneezeweed!”

“Oh. Yeah.” Zoe made an odd noise: part chuckle, part throat clearing, part choking on beer.

Lexa narrowed her eyes at her friend. “You don’t seem too surprised…”

Zoe downed the rest of her drink in a single gulp and left it on the bar, grabbing Lexa’s wrist with her now-free hand. “C’mon! Let’s dance!”

//

They somehow navigated through the crowd and met up with Zoe’s friends. Lexa nodded to all of them but couldn’t hear their greetings or introductions over the blaring of the music. It took no time at all for Lexa to remember why she hadn’t wanted to go out in the first place: she didn’t dance. Zoe and her friends were athletes; Lexa was an academic hermit with turned-in toes and gangly arms. She was physically incapable of moving her body like these girls.

But Zoe wasn’t having any of that. “Loosen up, Doc. You’ve gotta feel it in your hips, like this.”

She demonstrated, then placed her hands on Lexa’s hips to help her repeat the motion. Lexa thought she had crossed the line from buzzed to tipsy, but she wasn’t drunk enough for this. She couldn’t get out of her head. Then the music slowed, shifted from hurricane pace to ocean waves, and she understood why people might enjoy this. She was able to follow what Zoe did and roughly coordinate her movements with the beat. Zoe’s friends hooted and whistled appreciatively. Lexa closed her eyes and ran her hands through her hair like she’d seen actresses do in movies.

“Mind if I…Zoe?”

Lexa’s eyes snapped open. “Clarke.” This could not keep happening. Not when Clarke was wearing jeans that tight and a necklace that disappeared beneath the neckline of her V-necked top. But Clarke wasn’t looking at Lexa.

Zoe gave Clarke a faint smile. “Hey.”

“You two know each other?” It seemed like that was what this series of events meant, but Lexa couldn’t quite think straight.

Clarke shook her head with exasperation. “I was supposed to meet her here tonight.”

“But I was supposed to meet Zoe tonight…” Lexa knew there was a revelation just beyond her mental grasp.

Zoe released Lexa. “So, I’m just gonna…”

Clarke grabbed Zoe’s shoulder. “What’s your game here, Monroe?”

“I can’t just invite my friends out dancing?”

“Not if you’re going to act so cagey about it.”

“Maybe I wanted two of my friends to stop being so miserable over each other!”

“I’m not…We’re not…Lexa, tell her you aren’t miserable over me!”

“I’m not miserable,” Lexa proclaimed automatically.

Zoe’s expression took on a seriousness Lexa had never seen in class. “You’re both seriously wrecked, and the sooner you deal with it, the better off you’ll be.” She shrugged. “Or I know nothing. You decide.”

Suddenly, Clarke and Lexa were alone. Well, alone in a large crowd, but without Zoe and her friends. Lexa’s mental fog cleared a bit as silence stretched between them.

A question had been gnawing at Lexa. “Were you going to ask me to dance earlier?”

Clarke hooked her thumbs through her belt loops and looked off toward the exit. “It was stupid. I was drunk.”

“Are you still drunk?”

Lexa was pleased to see Clarke look flustered for once. “Lexa…”

“It’s okay.” She brought Clarke’s hands to her waist and laced her fingers behind Clarke’s neck.

//

Lexa would have loved to blame alcohol for the ridiculous position in which she now found herself, but the truth was that she didn’t feel drunk. She imagined this sensation was more like being high: on the music, on the late hour, on Clarke. She was also a little high on the power she seemed to have over Clarke. All too often, Lexa had been the one at Clarke’s mercy, but tonight Clarke had given up control. Maybe it was Lexa’s newfound dancing skills or the little black dress she’d dug out from the back of her closet. Maybe it was the odd tenor of their accidental reacquaintance. Lexa didn’t care to contemplate. She just wanted to enjoy it. Her fingertips traced up and down Clarke’s sides, across her shoulders and through the sweat-damp blonde curls at the nape of her neck. It all felt like some long-buried dream.

Clarke sighed into the contact but didn’t reach out for Lexa. Something was holding her back. Lexa needed that to change. She needed to feel Clarke’s hands on her. She tightened her grip on Clarke and drew their bodies closer, nearly pressed against each other, then leaned forward and whispered in Clarke’s ear, “touch me.” Clarke obeyed, and Lexa bit back a moan at the feeling of Clarke’s hands resting delicately under her ribs. She couldn’t imagine why she’d spent so much effort to avoid this contact just days before. _What a waste._ So what if this was the same woman who’d broken her heart three years ago? Lexa’s heart didn’t feel imperiled tonight; it felt strong, victorious, ascendant. Or maybe that was a different organ.

When Lexa bent toward Clarke again and let her lips brush Clarke’s earlobe, something in Clarke seemed to snap and Lexa found herself being dragged off the dance floor. Clarke pressed her up against a wall and marked a trail of quick, breathy kisses over her neck and jaw before finally connecting their lips. A rush that felt like panic rose in Lexa’s chest, but it crested into something closer to ecstasy. They kissed, bodies entwining, until Lexa’s heart felt overfull and her lungs were so empty that she thought she might pass out. She braced her palms against Clarke’s shoulders and pushed her back.

“Clarke, stop.”

Clarke jumped back immediately, as if she’d been shocked. “I’m so sorry, Lexa.”

“Clarke.”

“I don’t know why I did that. It was beyond—”

“Clarke.”

“—wrong of me, and I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Clarke!”

Clarke finally heard it the third time and looked up from the floor, a hardness in her eyes braced against the wrath she must have expected from Lexa.

“You didn’t take advantage of me. I _asked_ you to touch me.” Clarke visibly relaxed. “But I needed to ask you something else. What are we doing?”

“Something stupid. That’s for sure,” Clarke replied, though she reached for Lexa again as she spoke.

Lexa hummed as warm hands settled on her hips. “And reckless.”

“Something we’ll definitely regret in the morning.” Clarke stepped forward, pressing their bodies together.

“Right. And we should probably stop.” Lexa slipped her hand into Clarke’s back pocket, looked into her eyes, and kissed her.

 

Lexa felt like some other version of herself. The cautious, controlled part of her, which normally ruled, had taken the night off, leaving her with a fearless streak she hardly recognized. They were past the point of no return. Clarke tried to lead Lexa into the club bathroom, but even tonight’s cavalier Lexa turned up her nose at that.  
“I have a better idea.”

“Mmm?”

“My place.”

//

The walk should have taken less than ten minutes, but Lexa swore it was twice as long tonight. Part of it could be chalked up to impatience, but dalliances in the alley were also a factor. The rough brick of the walls against Lexa’s back, still slightly warm from the day’s absorbed sunlight, made her feel young again.

When they finally arrived at Lexa’s door, and she turned away from Clarke to dig her keys from her purse, she had a moment of clarity.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, not knowing if the question was directed at Clarke or herself.

Clarke pressed her front against Lexa’s back, rested her chin on Lexa’s shoulder, and took a deep breath. “Lexa, I’ve always been sure about you.” It was a lie, Lexa knew, and the kind of thing Clarke could only say because they weren’t looking at each other. It was a lie; it had to be. It was a lie, a needless one that threatened to veer this night into dangerous territory. She didn’t want to hear any of Clarke’s apologies tonight; tonight, there was nothing to forgive. Lexa turned the key, pushed the door open, and grabbed Clarke by the collar with both hands.

“I think you should stop talking.”

Clarke responded by kissing Lexa like she’d just remembered she could. Lexa pulled Clarke the six or so steps to the couch. By the time she came to straddle Clarke’s lap, they’d already removed most of their clothing, and the heat of Clarke’s skin where their bare thighs touched set Lexa’s pulse racing. She gathered Clarke’s hair in one hand and rested the other on her chest while kissing each inch of her now-exposed neck. Clarke’s necklace hung down past the front clasp of her bra; Lexa’s fingers traced the path of the chain before unclasping the bra and pulling both away, baring the glory that was Clarke’s breasts.

If Lexa had held even a hint of doubt about this reunion, it evaporated when Clarke guided Lexa’s hands to her breasts. In the face of such pure bliss, how could anything else possibly matter? She felt simultaneously elevated and brought down to Earth, like nothing could ever be quite as _real_ as this moment, this sensation. And it _was_ real. Clarke was really there under her, head tipped back against the couch, quick inhales pressing her breasts further into Lexa’s hands. Lexa’s hands warred with her mouth for the right to cover the precious territory. When she came up for air, the fire she saw in Clarke’s eyes kicked her desire up another notch, past what she knew she could feel. They held each other’s gaze and made a silent agreement. Clarke tightened her grip on Lexa’s waist and hoisted her up as she pushed off the couch. Lexa wrapped her legs around Clarke’s waist and Clarke moved them to the bedroom.

Lexa’s back hit the mattress with more force than she’d expected, and she bounced up into the body leaning over her. Both women chuckled at that, and there was a moment that felt too tender, too affectionate for Lexa’s taste. She snaked a hand behind Clarke’s neck and tugged the other woman down to meet her lips. Clarke took Lexa’s cue; suddenly her hands were _everywhere._ Lexa’s bra was off in a matter of seconds, and fingertips soon found their way from her chest down to the waistband of her underwear. Lexa bucked her hips toward Clarke’s hand and whimpered into their kiss.

“Can I?” Clarke asked, despite Lexa’s obvious encouragement. In lieu of a verbal response, Lexa pulled her own underwear off and spread her legs. Clarke pressed her mouth to Lexa’s before her fingers found their way to Lexa’s entrance, dipping just inside before teasing her lips and clit. Lexa made more needy noises, muffled by the kiss.

Before long, Clarke sank her fingers deep into Lexa and started fucking her in earnest. They broke the kiss, and Clarke’s lips trailed down Lexa’s neck, now slick with sweat. Lexa rocked against Clarke’s hand, clit dragging on the palm. She was close.

“Clarke,” she panted. “I need…”

“What do you need, baby?”

She needed to come. She needed release. She needed Clarke to call her “baby” again, though the term was wildly inappropriate for this scenario. She said none of these things, but Clarke knew. Clarke, for all her emotional blind spots, always had a knack for reading Lexa’s body. She intensified her thrusts, reaching deeper into Lexa and brushing her front wall on the way out. When she had Lexa thoroughly squirming beneath her, she raised her left hand to Lexa’s head and wrapped her fingers in her brown curls, digging her fingernails into her scalp. That, and a bit of pressure on her clit, sent Lexa over the edge, breathing out Clarke’s name as she came.

Once Lexa regained her breath and some sense of her body in space, she was eager to return the favor. Clarke seemed content with languid kisses, but when Lexa stroked her through her underwear, her fingers came away sticky. Clarke was _soaked._

Lexa brought her fingers to her mouth, tongue darting out to sample Clarke’s juices. She’d forgotten the taste: musky, with a touch of cinnamon sweetness. She was immediately hooked. She practically tore the silky fabric from Clarke’s hips and buried herself between Clarke’s legs. The tight clasp of Clarke’s thighs around Lexa’s head made it hard to move—or breathe—but that was a small sacrifice.

Clarke didn’t last long; in what seemed like less than a minute, Lexa felt Clarke’s legs begin to quiver and her thrusting falter. Strong hands held Lexa’s head flush against Clarke’s crotch as Clarke let out an incredibly varied slew of moans and expletives, clearly audible to Lexa’s covered ears. Then Clarke’s taste grew stronger with a new flood of liquid onto Lexa’s tongue.

Lexa didn’t relinquish her position until she’d worked Clarke through her third orgasm, and even then, when she’d clambered up to rest on the pillows, her fingers lightly eased Clarke through the aftershocks. When her body finally relaxed, Clarke groaned and flopped over on her stomach.

“I feel like Jell-O.”

Lexa smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It _is._ God, Lex, I haven’t been fucked like that since…”

And then it was awkward. Lexa didn’t know if Clarke meant ‘since we were together’ or if there was some other mind-blowing sex in her more recent past. She didn’t want to know. She quieted this unpleasant train of thought by kissing Clarke, first on the shoulder, then, when she lifted her face from the pillows, on the lips. Clarke slung a leg over Lexa’s body and snuggled up, eyelids already fluttering closed. _Just for one night,_ Lexa told herself before wrapping the other woman in her arms. It didn’t take long for them both to fall asleep.

//

Lexa woke the next morning to the harsh slam of her apartment’s front door. It took her a moment to contextualize the sound, to combine it with Clarke’s scent on the pillow, the tangled bedsheets, and the underwear on the floor, to come to the conclusion that Clarke had run away, that she was, once again, alone.


End file.
